The Very Short Reign of Katlin Pierce
by January in June
Summary: What would you do if they offered you the world?
1. Queen of All Creation

Katlin fidgeted, practically glowing with pride. Out of all the ensigns, Commander Riker picked her – HER! – as his aide on this mission. Katlin grinned. Molly was probably back on the Enterprise, sucking lemons and sticking pins into a doll.

Katlin peered between the the crowd at Riker, rocking back and forth on her toes. He was handsome, alright, but you didn't move up in the world making passes at the boss. Nope. She banged the briefcase against her knees. You moved up by hard work. Studying the case files. Paying attention in briefings. And no de-briefings…ha!

Despite her pride, Katlin was aware that her role in this was little more than "briefcase holder." They were on an away mission to a planet called Lohrammain, which was in the final stages of joining the Federation. This mission was little more than a formality, where Riker would be presenting the papers for the Prince to sign. Katlin was tucked away in a crowd of dignitaries, waiting for her one big role. Walk forward, open the briefcase. She'd practiced in front of the mirror.

The room was noisy. It was more like a big party than a diplomatic mission. The Prince sat at a long table, but behind him people milled around sipping drinks and eating finger food, and beyond the "honored" guests there was an open gallery full of celebrating peasants, waving pennants and shouting.

The Prince looked honestly bored. He was half-way through a stack of papers to sign, and he had to keep re-shouldering his ceremonial furs. He was a little old for a "prince," Katlin thought. His goatee and hair were flecked with gray, but then again his stern face was still youthful. Maybe the stress of the job grayed him early.

The Prince looked up from the last of his papers. Riker turned back towards the smattering of Starfleet dignitaries and gestured at Katlin. Chest puffed up, with a thousand watt grin, Katlin shouldered her way forward, holding the briefcase in front of her.

The Prince glanced at her, did a double take and dropped his pen. His mouth opened slightly. Katlin hesitated, her grin suddenly frozen on her face.

Someone in the crowd gasped and pointed. Conversations died. The room was suddenly, eerily quiet, except for the sound of a dropped wine glass.

The Prince stood, his wooden chair rasping against the marble. He practically jumped the table in his haste to get at Katlin.

Frightened, Katlin took a few steps back, and Riker stepped forward to intercept the prince. "Just what –" Riker started to say, putting a hand between him and Katlin.

"Get her out of here," the Prince hissed, grabbing Katlin's arm. He lifted his cloak as if to hide her from the room. "Get her out of here – now!" He shoved the two of them into the next room, and turned to slam and then barricade the door.

They were in a chapel, with soft afternoon light filtering down through stained glass. There were rows of seats facing a simple, bare altar, and candles flickered in the draft.

"Is this a joke?" The Prince demanded. "Did you - did you clone her? Surgically alter her?"

"What are you talking about?" Riker asked, incredulous. "What's going on?"

"What's going on?" The Prince was gaping at the two of them. "Look!" He gestured behind them.

Riker and Katlin turned as one. The back wall of the chapel was a large mural, a portrait of Katlin. It was unmistakably her – the wavy blonde hair, the light gray eyes, even the small beauty-mark next to her nose. The portrait was smiling benevolently, a jeweled crown resting gently across her brow.

Katlin gasped, slapping her hand across her mouth.

"How…?" Riker asked, taking a step back, to better see the entire painting.

"Not how. Who." The Prince sighed, blowing out his cheeks. "That's Schereza, Queen of All Creation, who was prophesied to return and usher in a thousand years of peace and prosperity."

"Holy shit," Katlin said, between her fingers.


	2. They've All Seen

The Prince had taken a seat unceremoniously in one of the pews, and buried his face in his hands. "They've all seen, they've all seen," he muttered.

Already there was a pounding at the chapel door. "Your highness!"

"A moment!" he roared, and looked back at Katlin. He shook his head in despair and buried his face again.

"Listen," Riker said, "I'll have the Enterprise beam us up from here and –"

"NO!" The Prince stood, reaching out to Katlin as if to keep her. "You don't understand, this could topple my kingdom. Too many people have seen her. They will riot. They will never stop looking for her. You don't understand, my people are superstitious beyond reason. They will not rest until she blesses the city."

"Absolutely out of the question," Riker was already reaching for Katlin, to pull her into a joint transporter beam. "This is one of the biggest affronts to the prime directive I have ever-"

"Prime directive? I know your prime directive, and it certainly doesn't let you come in here with her – HER! – and destroy everything I have –" The Prince paused. "Do you hear that?"

They listened. There was a quiet, unmistakable roar of a crowd growing somewhere outside the palace. "They will bring tear this place to the ground if they think we are keeping Schereza from them."

"We're leaving," Riker tapped his communicator.

The Prince caught Katlin's eyes. He took a shuddering breath. "Damn you to hell, did you have to be so beautiful?"

"Wait," Katlin said, struggling out of Riker's grip. "What if I just went out there and said, 'Yes, it's me, a thousand years of happiness!"

"We won't allow it," Riker snapped. The roar of the approach mob was getting louder.

"They will kill me for this," the Prince said. Riker hesitated. "The only way to prevent a riot is exactly as she says. We'll take her out on a balcony, she can blow a few kisses, and then you'll be on your way."

A muscle in Riker's cheek was twitching.

"Please," Katlin said. "I'll do it. I want to do it."

Riker shook his head. "I don't like this."

"You don't have a choice." The Prince unbarred the doors and conferred hurriedly with his guards.

The Prince refused to let Katlin leave in anything less than traditional ceremonial dress. Before Katlin realized what was happening, a half-dozen handmaidens were tying an enormous white ballgown around her, and lacing the neck of the dress up to her chin to hide her Starfleet uniform. On top of the gown they tied layers of sheer golden lace, while another handmaiden rapidly brushed her hair and styled it into flowing curls. They shoved rings on her fingers and hung her neck with ropes of pearls and gemstones. It was all topped off with a giant golden headdress and Katlin felt herself staggering a bit under the weight.

The Prince nodded. "It will have to do," he said, and took her hand. Katlin looked back at Riker for support but he just nodded curtly, jaw clenched tight. The guards threw open the door to the chapel and the room exploded into cheers.

The guards held their spears lengthwise to keep the press of the people back. They were all screaming, roaring, cheering, weeping, and Katlin did her best to smile and nod benevolently without letting her headdress slide. Hands shot out of the crowd from all sides, desperate to touch her. The Prince kept her tightly against his side, leading her down the hall, up a grand flight of marble stairs and on to the open air balcony.

Katlin blinked in the sunlight as the crowd roared even louder than before. When her eyes adjusted to the light, she gasped at the crowd that lay below her – it seemed to stretch on for miles, in every direction. She raised her hand slightly to shield her eyes from the sun, and the crowd screamed in delight. Katlin smiled and waved slightly. The crowd roared in response. Emboldened, she blew a kiss and she swore she saw everyone for miles stagger in rapturous joy. She raised both hands in what she hoped was a blessing and basked in the thunderous cheers.

_Molly Nelson, eat your heart out, _Katlin thought, and grinned.


	3. Playing Dress-Up

It was hours before Katlin could take the headdress off.

They finally left her, alone, locked behind two sets of thick wooden doors, in what she presumed was some sort of antechamber. Riker and the Prince were in an adjacent set of rooms, arguing.

Katlin slowly lifted the jeweled headdress off, pulling her tangled and sweaty hair out of the beaded rim. She set it carefully on a table in the middle of the dark and somber room. She tilted her head from side to side and her neck cracked in relief.

She could hear the Prince shouting in the other room, but she couldn't make out the words. She pressed an ear to the door, crunching up her skirts in the process, but the voices remain unintelligible. She turned back to examine her surroundings.

Someone had hastily prepared the room for her. The sun had set an hour ago, and the room was lit with flickering candles, and the table piled high with food. Thick embroidered tapestries covered the walls, and between the plush rug under her feet and the canopied seat to her left, Katlin felt positively medieval.

Her stomach growled as she examined the contents of the table. You weren't supposed to eat alien food on an away mission, but Katlin hadn't had anything since breakfast. She reached a tired hand towards what looked like an apple. It felt solid enough, and she brought it to her lips, her stiff ceremonial sleeves making it hard to bend far enough. She took a bite, and while it was delicious, it spurted thick purple juice in her face and down her front.

"Shitshitshitshit," Katlin looked around for a napkin, and, finding none, wiped herself with the tablecloth. The dress remained rather stained, and she suspected her face was equally tinged with purple. Heaving a sigh, Katlin tried the rest of the dishes, eventually settling on some ribs that tasted a bit like chicken.

She was seated in an inglorious flounce of her skirts, nawing at the last of the ribs, when the door burst back open. The Prince and Riker looked equally livid. Katlin scrambled to her feet, brushing her sticky fingers hastily in the folds of the now ruined dress. She hiccupped.

Riker eyed her disapprovingly. "It appears that the Prince may have underestimated your 'duties' as a figurehead."

"Perhaps you should have availed yourself of the most basic tenet of our religion before you brought this – "

Riker interrupted "Your presence is *requested* by the Prince for three days, during which you will bless the crowds and receive dignitaries. At the end of the third day you will ceremonially take your leave and never return."

Katlin shrugged "Ok."

The Prince nodded. "There. Settled. We'll have someone take you to your rooms."

He left, banging the thick wooden doors behind him.

Katlin swallowed. "I think you made him angry –"

Riker spun on her "And I think you are in direction violation of the Prime Directive."

"_Me?_" Katlin whined. "I didn't *ask* for any of this."

"Your excellence?" A young boy peered through the door. "If you would be kind enough to follow this unworthy one, I will escort you to your suite."

"Thank you," Kaitlin picked up her skirts in two big handfuls and swept out of the room.

* * *

"Rooms" was an understatement, Katlin thought, as the servants opened the doors on her suite. The golden chamber was big enough to play baseball in, and it was only the entryway. A cheerful gaggle of handmaidens led her down a hallway, past hanging portraits and woven rugs, into a room that housed a swimming pool sized bath, with servants pouring steaming jugs of rose-scented perfume into the bubbling water.

Before she could protest the handmaids had her out of her clothes and into the fragrant bath. Katlin started to insist that she could bathe herself, but found herself growing more compliant as the hot water eased the crick out of her neck. Her fingers manicured, her hair washed and braided, they slipped her into a silky, jeweled nightgown and tied a thick dressing gown around her shoulders.

It was another long walk to her bedroom, and she was left alone only after a long series of bows and every one of the handmaids had kissed her hands.

She turned to observe the suddenly quiet room. There was a fireplace flickering a cheerful amber glow over the plush vanity, the canopied bed, the tables and chairs, the desk, a wall of books, a marble statue of what looked like a griffin.

The door banged open behind her, and Katlin jumped around, startled.

"_Where_ have you been?" Riker demanded.

"Having a bath," Katlin said, cringing slightly.

"From now on I expect to know where you are, at all times, with no exceptions. One wrong move, one wrong word, and we are BOTH beaming out of here," he loosened his collar. "I don't like the way things are going, and – " he paused. "What are you wearing?"

"A… nightgown?"

"On your head."

Katlin put a hand up to her hair, and felt points. She pulled and found she had been wearing a feather-light crown, in wiry, lacy silver with tiny, incandescent pearls. "Oh, I guess they put it there."

"You're not here to play dress up, Ensign Pierce."

"They put it on me!"

"No excuses. You have no idea the damage you could do."

"I haven't done anything!"

Riker sighed. "Well, get some sleep. I've convinced the guards to give me the room across the hall. Don't leave in the morning without me."

"Yessir. Goodnight sir."

Riker grunted and left.

Katlin threw the crown away in a snit. Playing dress-up. She could barely undo the knot keeping the robe around her shoulders. When she finally pulled it free she let it fall where she stood and flopped angrily into the bed. The bed hissed and shifted beneath her, and she sank into the thick pillows like a falling soufflé.

She tussled her way on to her back and stared up at the canopy overhead. The gold thread shifted and twinkled in the candlelight as she sank deeper into the pillows. Just who did Riker think he was, her dad? She wasn't playing dress-up, this was serious. Riker would just have to get used to the fact that, for the next three days, Katlin was Queen of the World.

Best away mission, ever.


End file.
